


a knight's tale

by onceuponamirror



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamirror/pseuds/onceuponamirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan had entertained the idea of being a princess. Once. Or twice. When she was seven. And yet, that’s exactly where she finds herself: Princess Emma, shifting uncomfortably in her corset, her royal ass aching after three hours on a wooden throne in 90 degree L.A. heat, jealously eying the mini fan on a lanyard the woman walking past her is wearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a knight's tale

As a kid, Emma had briefly entertained fantasies of being discovered as a lost princess of a faraway land—or, really, anyway faraway from the broom closet she would hide in when her foster parents would fight. Faraway from wandering hands, faraway from the room she shared with six other kids, faraway from her life.

Orphan, in and out of foster homes, so too difficult to maintain a decent GPA in a new school every other month, so no shot at a scholarship to college, so no degree, so no decent paying desk job, so bail bonds, so a torn ACL, so a scramble for a job that would keep her off her feet while she was in physical therapy, so a job that would pay for physical therapy, so…the job she currently can’t believe she has now.

Plus the kid she had somewhere along the way. That too.

So yeah, she’d entertained the idea of being a princess. Once. Or twice. When she was _seven_.

And yet, that’s exactly where she finds herself: Princess Emma, shifting uncomfortably in her corset, her royal ass aching after three hours on a wooden throne in 90 degree L.A. heat, jealously eying the mini fan on a lanyard the woman walking past her is wearing.

“Would you sit still?” Regina hisses at her, shuffling behind her chair and bending down to adjust the PA system behind the royal thrones. “Princesses don’t squirm.”

“Yeah, well this one does when she’s about to get heat stroke,” Emma mumbles, adjusting in her seat one more time, if just to spite Regina, even if she is her boss. (It’s a good thing she likes Henry.) Whatever. Regina gets to walk around all day in a tank top while Emma sits baking in three layers of satin.

“I’ll get Will to bring you some water before the show starts,” Regina sighs, after a moment. “Fair?”

“Fine.”

Regina disappears below the rafters, probably to triple check everything again, and a few moments later, David and Mary Margaret appear, shuffling into their seats. They play her parents the King and Queen, despite being maybe only ten years older than her; but they’ve taken to her and Henry enough like family.

“This is from Will,” Mary Margaret says, passing her a goblet filled with water. “Caught him on his way over.”

Emma drinks it greedily; she didn’t realize how thirsty she was until now. Mary Margaret eyes her with maternal concern, but the show is starting to open up again, so they have to settle into character.

The first knight, always the reigning champion, enters into the arena first. Of course, the reigning champion—her champion, according to the rules—happens to be also be a reigning _ass_.

Not that she really knows him. But she knows his type, and that’s enough for her to think to stay away.

Killian Jones sits up straight in his saddle, preening for the crowd. If it weren’t for her son, his “squire,” she’d have a lot more trouble resisting an eye roll. Henry leads out Killian’s horse, black as midnight, and draws it towards the royal box. Henry grins at her, and she winks back at him.

This is the first summer he’s been working at the park, and she’d been hesitant at first, but he wanted to make some of his own spending money and she didn’t mind having more time with him anyway. He’s really thrown himself into his squire work—which actually does include caring for the horses—and she’s briefly overcome with pride when she sees him in his uniform.

And then Killian opens his mouth.

“My fair princess,” he greets, sweeping into a bow. His mic carries his voice throughout the bleachers, and she grits her teeth into what she hopes is a smile. He just always sounds so smug.

“Hello, Sir Jones,” she says, affecting a gentle tone. He seems to sit up a bit straighter, but that must be her imagination. “Do you wish to accept my token of favor today?”

“Most ardently,” Killian replies, leaning forward to accept her pink rose. He dips his nose into the petals, eying her over it, and an involuntary shiver shoots down her spine.

Well. She never said he wasn’t good-looking.

“I shall hold your token of love close to my heart, my love,” he adds lowly, and if it weren’t for his mic, she’d almost think that was actually meant to be personal. Then again, he always flirts with her. Her lips twitch all the same.

He bows again, and Henry leads him away to make his round of the arena, for another promenade of waving. She glances to her left, where David and Mary Margaret are watching her curiously. She frowns and files it away for later, knowing calling them out on their expressions would be caught on the speakers.

Something tells her she wouldn’t like what they’re thinking anyway.

—

As scripted as much of the shows are, the actual tournaments are real. This is to keep the day-to-day events from being too monotonous, so people visiting the park for multiple days don’t have to watch the same show over and over again.

According to Henry, the knight-actors have to train with a bunch of Hollywood stunt people—horseback-riding, archery, swords, jousting. Some of the actors, like Robin, even come from professional sports backgrounds.

Storybrooke Renaissance Park isn’t necessarily known for it’s love of historical accuracy—like she’s never understood why Renaissance fairs are always vaguely medieval—but the license it takes with the truth pays off, in Emma’s mind, because it all makes for one hell of a show.

Jousting is first, and Killian practically sweeps the deck with all of them, loath as she is to admit. The only one who holds her own is Merida, whose giant Clydesdale horse practically sets the arena into a rumble. She gives him a run for his money, but Killian still advances into first place.

Archery follows in second, and it’s never been Killian’s strong suit, but today he seems to be especially off. Robin and Merida fight for first, with Lance and Kris also beating Killian out. He comes in fifth, sliding him into third place overall. She watches him in between the next round, breathing heavily and talking to Henry while he guzzles down a goblet of water.

Henry seems to be reassuring him, and then they both glance up at her. She looks away quickly, flushing.

The bell tolls for the next round, combat with swords (well, plastic swords) and Killian dons his helmet again after a long moment of staring at the ground. Third round is the final one, and Emma does the math, tallying up the scores. She dimly realizes that even if Killian comes in first with swords, if Merida does even decently he’ll still only get second place overall. That must’ve been what Henry was comforting him about. He’s not going to be her Champion anymore.

Emma feels an odd pang at that, and shifts in her seat as if to dispel it. A little humbling might do him good.

She swears she can feel him watching her as he takes position. And then it starts—with a loud clash. The plastic doesn’t quite have the same sound effect as steel, but Regina set up a background recording of it, and it generally does the trick.

He does well. He does really well.

Kris is out in about a minute, Robin lasts barely longer than that. Merida fares alright, but she’s not really a woman of the sword. Lance (nicknamed “Lancelot” among the actors) is the only real competition Killian has, and for a moment, Emma’s not sure what’ll happen. But with a graceful pivot, Killian knocks Lance off his feet, and it’s over.

—

After Merida has been crowned the new champion and the crowd starts to thin, Emma is finally allowed reprieve from her duties as princess, at least until the banquet dinner, which visitors are allowed (read: encouraged) to pay into. She weaves her way to the employee tent, determined to get her hands on her bottle of water.

She finds Killian slumped against a post, nursing it like it’s his last drink.

“That’s my water,” she says flatly.

He looks at her slowly, wiping the excess from his mouth. “Apologies,” he says after a beat, looking sullen. “I thought it was Henry’s. He’d said I could have some because I’d forgotten my own.”

She feels suddenly very guilty, because Killian couldn’t look more like a kicked dog and it is actually Henry’s water bottle. It even says his name on it. She couldn’t find her own that morning and had just grabbed one of his extras. “I’m sorry,” she says, running her hands through her hair with a sigh. “I…it’s been a long day. It’s too hot, and I get grumpy.”

“I imagine I would too if I had to sit in the sun in all that get up. I don’t know what’s worse: my armor or your corset,” Killian muses, shooting her a small smile. He passes her the water bottle. “Here.”

 _Finally, someone gets me_ , she thinks with surprise. “Thanks,” she murmurs, brows furrowing. She takes a long pull, glancing at him over the edge. “Um. So, sorry about today.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry? What have you to be sorry about?”

She realizes she doesn’t really know why she’s apologizing. “Oh. Well, my token didn’t work.”

“Oh,” he laughs, surprised. “Aye, suppose it is your fault then.”

She slaps his arm. “Shut up.”

He grins at her, and she feels warm. Then his smile turns down, eyes dropping to the ground. “I never was good at archery anyway. Knew it’d be my undoing.”

“Well, you’re really good with swords,” she finds herself saying. But she does mean it.

He looks oddly shy at that, and scratches behind his ear. “Been fencing since I was a lad. All kind of in the same wheelhouse.”

“And the jousting?”

“Took a lot of tries to get right,” he replies, still looking bashful. And then sad. Her heart twists, much to her surprise. He’d always seemed like such a smug bastard, but this is actually the longest she’s talked with him, and she’s actually enjoying it.

So she inhales, and says, “Look, don’t take it so hard. You were reigning champion for like, the past two months. That’s a lot of days of great scores.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “So you had one off round. You’ll be back on top tomorrow.”

“Makes you think though.”

“How so?”

He glances up at the top of the tent. “Dunno. About why I’m really doing this,” he says, eyes sliding back to her, something intense flaring in the blue. She stills, holding his gaze.

“Uh, money?” Emma supplies a moment later, laughing awkwardly to break the tension. The actors do get a 15% bonus with every win.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “Money.” He gives another sidelong glance. “Hey, listen, would you…want to get dinner with me? We can ditch the banquet. I’ve a real desire to blow off some steam, and I know a place where you can get onion rings and Henry can play pinball.”

Her jaw drops. How did he know she loved onion rings? At her look, he quickly adds, “Ah, Henry told me of your favored snack.” That only makes her more suspicious, but before she can question it, Henry jogs up to them.

“Hello lad,” Killian greets, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “I’ve just invited you and your mum for some pub food and some pinball. What do you say?”

“Awesome!” Henry exclaims, and Emma groans. “Can we, Mom?”

“First of all, I’m not taking my thirteen year old to a bar. Secondly, I’m the princess, I’m supposed to stay for the banquet. People like seeing us at the heads of the table.”

“Oi, Regina can’t make you do that. You don’t get paid overtime for it,” Killian says. “And it’s not a bar, it’s a restaurant. They just serve beer and the like, but it’s perfectly kid-friendly.”

“Yeah, and if I have to eat one more pig leg, I’m gonna throw up,” Henry adds, with just the hint of a pout.

“Okay kid, no one said you had to work here,” Emma says, but she already feels her resolve crumbling the longer she thinks about onion rings. And Killian hasn’t pissed her off yet. And maybe she doesn’t mind spending some more time with him. If just to cheer him up. And onion rings.

_Yeah, onion rings._

“Alright, alright. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but lead the way, Jones.”

—

Killian makes a half-ditched effort to get Emma to stay in her princess outfit (”Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear, love.”) but Henry whines about the hay stuck in the back of his uniform and they all know they’re not supposed to take costumes out of the park.

Killian and Henry are waiting for her when she emerges from the dressing room and go suspiciously quiet when they see her. She narrows her eyes, but knows better than to pry.

“You look ravishing, darling,” Killian greets, running his eyes over her jeans and leather jacket.

“Easy boy,” she says, rolling her eyes and patting his shoulder as she breezes past him.

They take two cars to the pub and it’s a bit of the way from the park, which is in the valley, to Echo Park, but it’s close to where her house is so she doesn’t mind. Killian beats her to it, and is leaning against his car, a predictably black, sleek old muscle car, when they pull up.

“No surprise, you drive like a maniac,” she says by way of greeting.

He grins cheekily. “I am a hell of a driver, love. I know what I’m doing. Not had one ticket.”

Henry, however, has spotted the death trap Killian drives and is practically drooling. “Killian, whoa! Cool car!”

“Thanks, lad. You’ll have to come for a spin sometime.”

“Over my dead body,” Emma snorts, following him inside.

“Keep up with that yellow monstrosity and you won’t be far off,” Killian replies. “When was the last time you had that thing looked at? I swear I could hear it rattling a mile off.”

“My bug is in perfectly good shape,” Emma sniffs, even though it is probably due for a check up. Or two.

“Let’s make a deal not to comment on the others choice of vessel then, eh Swan?”

“Fine. Deal.” It’s now that Emma takes a moment to glance around. Her mouth falls open. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“A bit, yeah,” he chuckles, leading them towards a corner booth. The pub is decked out in medieval banners with ornate coats of arms, dark wood, and long wooden tables in the back. “Did I not mention this place was called Dublin Castle?”

She buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I agreed to this,” she groans into her palms.

“Come now, Swan.”

“I think it’s cool, Mom,” Henry pipes up from across the booth.

“Yeah, because you still play that Knights and Dragons video game and you’ve only been working at the Renaissance park for a month. Give it time, kid.”

Henry rolls his eyes, flushing a little at the mention of his favorite video game, which is technically aimed at a younger demographic. “Whatever, Mom. I’m gonna go play pinball. Order me some fries and the usual.” He slips out of the booth and wanders towards the back, leaving them alone, though not for long, as a woman wearing a tiny apron saunters up to the table.

“Hey, Killian,” she says, sounding way too chipper for Emma’s tastes. “Who’re your friends?”

“Ruby, this is Emma, my co-worker,” Killian says, flashing Emma a soft smile from across the table.

“And the moody kid in the back is mine,” Emma adds, forcing herself to break Killian’s gaze.

“Emma, huh,” Ruby echoes, a perfectly arched eyebrow raising. “Well, nice to meet you. Need a minute or do you know what you want?”

She hasn’t actually had a chance to look at the menu, but Killian did promise onion rings, so she figures it’s standard diner fare. “If you have pastrami sandwiches, my kid’ll have one of those, and an order of fries. I’ll have a burger and onion rings.”

Ruby pivots to Killian. “Usual, boss-man?”

He reddens. “Aye, Ruby. Thanks.”

She waits until Ruby’s gone before turning on him. “Boss-man?”

Killian rubs at a spot behind his ear. “I may have failed to mention this is my place. But I’m just a silent partner, really. My brother runs it.”

Emma settles in on her elbows, smirking at the sight of Killian Jones looking so squirmy. “You bring all the girls to your own pub?”

He stills at that. “No,” he murmurs, looking her dead in the eye.

“Oh,” she breathes, brows furrowing at that. She decides not to read into it, despite the funny look Killian is giving her. He breaks away and sighs, drums his knuckles on the tabletop.

“For a while the restaurant wasn’t doing well. Theme places are usually pretty hit or miss. So we toned down the medieval stuff, starting serving diner food—hired this real bloody tough cook and everything—and I got a second job.”

“At the park,” Emma says.

“Aye, at the park. I had a fencing background and Regina was an old friend of Liam’s—my brother, that is. They were in the same major in Uni. Medieval studies, obviously. Anyway, I took the gig,” Killian replies. “Found I rather liked it. But the pub’s been doing well these past few years, actually. Liam wants me to come back, quit the park.”

Emma swallows. “Are you gonna?”

“Dunno, honestly.” His hand twitches as if to move and then hesitates, before he balls it into a fist at his side. “To be honest, Emma, I think the main reason I’ve—”

“Order up!” Ruby announces, depositing three plates of food and two beers in front of them. They both jump back, and only then does Emma realize they’ve both been leaning in.

“That was fast,” Killian grumbles. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever heard someone so unhappy to be given good food service.

“Granny saw you come in, got started on your usual,” Ruby says, her eyes belying her innocent tone. “And Liam wants you to try the new stout before he orders more. He says he’ll be over in a bit to say hi and I quote, to ‘meet your special lady friend.’”

“God,” Killian whimpers, covering his eyes with his hand. “I knew this was a bloody mistake.”

Ruby leaves laughing, and Emma nudges Killian. “Hey, it’s okay, there’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s not like this is a date.”

He groans louder. “Well, this is going terribly.”

She frowns. “What?”

Killian exhales as if to steady himself. “I’d, ah, hoped it was.”

“Hoped it was what?”

“Come on Emma, don’t make me—a date. I’d hoped it was a date.”

Her mind empties. “Oh.”

“Look,” Killian adds quickly, “it doesn’t have to be. I’ve no desire to pressure you into anything. I just…with the business doing well, I’ve been thinking about quitting the park for a while, and I realized the only reason I stuck around as long as I did was…well, for you.”

“For me?” Emma sputters, going over their past interactions in her mind. He’s always been flirty, but she’d just assumed he was that way with everyone.

“Aye,” Killian sighs, sounding resigned. “Clearly I was a bit clumsy with my overtures. I’ve fancied you for a long while now.”

“But…” Emma doesn’t know what to think. “You invited Henry on what you thought was a date?”

He shrugs. “You’re a package deal, are you not?” Her chest flares at that—they are, but no one’s ever said it to her.

It dawns on Emma. “This was Henry’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t be cross with him, love. He was just sick of my unrequited mooning,” he says, offering his hand. “Friends?”

She bites her lip. He’s giving her an easy out. It’s not like she isn’t attracted to him, and he genuinely seems to be interested in her, genuinely seems to like Henry, genuinely seems to be kind and funny and—she’d be lying if she’s not terrified at the thought of a relationship in general, let alone one with a very handsome flirt, no matter how much her son seems to like him.

But then she looks across the bar at her son, and she thinks about the way her son lights up around Killian, the way the date was his idea. She took a chance on her son the first time she held him—moments before she’d been about to give him away—and he’s taken a chance on Killian now.

Maybe she can try to do the same.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly, looking at her hands and missing the way his face falls. Then she adds, “You did accept my token of affection already.”

His smile is near blinding. “Mm. According to the script, it was a token of _love_.”

She leans over and steals one of his fries, unsuccessfully fighting a matching a grin. “Don’t push it.”

–

Emma Swan wears a crown to work every day. She gets laced up and hair braided. She spends her afternoons as the princess of the park, but of all the things she never imagined, a happy ending with a dashing knight was at the top of the list.

And yet.


End file.
